


Mautiste Short Fic Series

by bluebells



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Because Mauga can do only one thing, Longing, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexy fantasy with a side of longing, Twitter Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: Short Mautiste twitter fics inspired by conversations, other creators and shenanigans on social media. Prompts in chapter titles.Requests open, can be submitted here orvia Twitter (I don't use Tumblr or Discord these days).
Relationships: Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Mauga
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Unanswered texts (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on those "I know you won't get this but..." texts because you know they don't use that number anymore, but you had to write it down, get it out before it strangled you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/bellsybuilds/status/1183742180566790146).

A month after Baptiste flees Monte Cristi, Mauga gives in and sends a message on the medic's old Talon comm frequency:

_"Hey. If you're still checking this, let us know you're good."_

The next day, Sombra pulls him aside in the hall, careful: "You know he can't reach out, right?"

Mauga shrugs it off, embarrassed. Of course Talon would monitor all known comms from and to their defector. He's lucky Sombra is the one who caught it.

Her eyes are sharp but kind, and it rankles that she's concerned for him--both of them; vulnerable.

What an ugly word.

A week later, Sombra hands him a towel in the gym and reminds him to hydrate. He pays attention. A small data chip is taped to the bottom of his bottle. Back in his room, the audio on the chip informs Mauga it will corrupt and clear after its playthrough.

He pays attention.

It's a local news report from Venezuela: a redheaded anchor describing the ransack of a foreign-owned pharmaceutical warehouse, cleaning out rations and medical supplies, and leaving local authorities frustrated.

Mauga feels a smile tug the corner of his mouth.

'Tiste.

"Hey, can you pass something on for me?" Mauga asks Sombra when he sees her next. It's two weeks later. The leads will be cold, but it's safer than committing any requests to a record that could be used against them.

They're in the mess this time: plenty of walls to rebound secrets, every angle for curious ears to aim special mics and hear every word.

Sombra stirs her soup and glances at the paper Mauga pushes across the table. "Lottery," she sounds surprised, reading the numbers "You play?"

"When the odds are good."

Sombra smiles, waving a hand. Lavender nails again this month. "I make good odds."

'I make my own odds' he guesses her meaning, watching her squint and parse the possible meaning behind his code. He thinks he's done a fair job, but it's Sombra.

It's still a little disheartening how quickly the best hacker in the world decrypts his message. His face warms watching her coy expression slacken with sympathy.

"Oh, my friend." She looks at him like she's seeing him for the first time, soft, startled and wary.

Wary for him.

It takes monumental effort not to steal the paper back, crumple and burn it-- because it's evidence that he's still human, and he misses people he shouldn't, he still longs for their safety, he NEEDS them to know he wants them safe even if it means they're never coming back--

He jaw is clenched and he folds his hands on the steel table with a shrug, nodding to the paper in silent challenge. Baptiste matters more than the shame of being seen.

The danger of being known by Sombra; he'll deal with that later.

Sombra slides the paper beneath her bowl. "I'll place your order with mine."

So, she keeps in contact with him, too. It's a big admission. Mauga will wonder why she's sharing that later.

"Thanks," he rises stiffly, didn't expect that to be so easy, "And if there's anything--"

Her sweet smile is promising. "I have your number. You'll be hearing from me."

Stalking away and entirely forgetting he also came to the mess hall to eat, Mauga thinks there are worse people to be indebted to.


	2. First meetings (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Mauga and Baptiste met in Talon. A writing exercise without dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/bellsybuilds/status/1196050900885729291).

Baptiste doesn't stand out from the other recruits, not immediately. He is tall with proud shoulders, and a self-assurance that either repels or draws people toward his quiet gravity. Only the intimidated run. 

Mauga is not afraid.

He notices because Baptiste is the only one who barely takes notice of him. He assesses Mauga with a single look while the larger man announces his presence to the recruitment hall, basking in the affronted, weary or fascinated reactions he earns. This, he's accustomed to.

But leaning against the far wall at primary vantage to study them all, Baptiste raises an eyebrow at the disruption. He does not flinch when Mauga narrows him in his sights, and recognises-- 

_ That one. He's going to keep us alive. _

It helps that Baptiste is handsome.

///

When Mauga shoulders his way into Baptiste's life, it's with high volume and bluster that most people mistake for oafish bravado. Not to say that Mauga doesn't have an ego. They all do. But Mauga smiles too wide, too easy, and only a fool would overlook his sharp gaze.

Baptiste is no fool. Baptiste is a survivor. And he recognises his own. 

He watches Mauga bask in the awe and trepidation of the room, arms thrown wide as though in welcome. Hip canted, head cocked, the giant takes special pleasure in the ones who scramble out of reach.

Baptiste files the note away with other hazards of this place, and that's when the big man finds him across the room. He frowns at the weight of his look, the insinuation he knew Baptiste was there all along, that he would always find him--

Baptiste smiles. Challenge accepted.


	3. Winding down after a mission (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad are back from a mission, and Baptiste is tired as hell but still working. Mauga offers him something to distract him from his inner thoughts. Prompted by [Jayers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayers/pseuds/Jayers) and inspired directly by [their art.](https://twitter.com/Jayers_Art/status/1196436743265890305?s=19)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/bellsybuilds/status/1197172904884133888).

He imagines their first time together: his face buried between Baptiste's thighs, the medic's head falling back on a groan as he sways, feeding Mauga his cock with fingers tangled in his hair.

But even in the sanctuary of his mind, doubt tinges the fantasy. He sees the conflicted pinch of Baptiste's brow, and the noise of pleasure from deep in his chest is reluctant, as though to say--

(Well, if this has to happen... it might as well be you.)

(You'll do.)

Mauga's chest tightens, hot. He swallows moisture down his throat, and Baptiste shudders against the hands that pull him in closer, dragged forward on his knees.

Baptiste gets a certain way post-missions. Hyper-focused and quiet. A slouch in his shoulders, and a swagger in his walk. Sly smile as he knees your thighs apart.

He isn't discriminating with his choice of partner.

(You'll do.)

When Baptiste shivers, his chest heaves on his sigh. His gaze is heavy with exhaustion. Not affection, not desire. Mauga is a glorified handhold who just needs to mind his fangs.

The medic carries men on his back to refuge. He bandages them. He buries them. He asks for so little.

If this is the only way Mauga can... if this is the only way Baptiste would let him... if this is his only chance....

If the least Mauga can do is swallow him down, he will not complain.

Longing swells sickly hot and urgent in his chest, closing his throat. His palms sweat. His gut churns. He didn't used to be like this. He didn't used to discriminate either.

He's heard Talon snipers developed a way to mute all feeling. Maybe there's a pill for that.


End file.
